


Make Me The Stupid One

by waroftheposes



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Marriage Proposals really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17665505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: Guzman wants to propose to Nadia on a beach.He drags Ander and Omar first to a jewelers to pick out a ring and then to Andalusia to help him propose. It's only after he watches Nadia happily accept Guzman's proposal that Ander realizes he too wants to get engaged and married.He doesn'tneedit per se, he just wants it, really badly, and soon.





	Make Me The Stupid One

**Author's Note:**

> _Hacerme el tonto_

Guzman wants to propose to Nadia on a beach.

He takes Ander and Omar out to a bar one night and tells them about his proposal plans. At first, he has this grand idea of getting a band and doing it on a boat, but Omar talks him out of it. Then he bounces from idea to idea, first insisting that they all go to the Canary Islands, then saying that they can go to the Amalfi coast. Ander watches as Omar laughs in Guzman’s face. “You think Nadia will go to a Spanish colony?” he asks, laughter making him pause at every other word. “Have you met her?”

Ander has to calmly explain to an inebriated Guzman that Omar is _joking_ , and _of course_ Guzman knows Nadia, and yes _of course_ she will want to marry him, but he needs to figure out how to propose in a way that she will appreciate.

Guzman is silent for some time, sipping his drink and watching a spot on the table. Then, “Ibiza,” he says slowly. “Let’s go to Ibiza.”

Ander blinks at him. “No.”

He says it with such force and finality that both Omar and Guzman turn to look at him.

“You cannot take Nadia to Ibiza to propose to her,” he says. He looks at Omar for some reinforcement and Omar, on cue, begins to nod vigorously. “You can’t do that to her.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t, man,” Ander says. “Trust me.”

There is a moment of silence as Guzman watches Ander, and when the moment ends Guzman nods, presumably giving in. Sighing, he drops his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he says finally. “I want it to be special, but I know she won’t like anything extravagant.”

Ander catches Omar rolling his eyes and gives him a half smile. “She won’t want something huge,” Ander says kindly. “But she’ll want you to be yourself.”

“Here man,” Omar leans forward, resting his hand on Guzman’s shoulder. “Go to Andalusia.”

Raising his head and looking first into Omar’s face, then into Ander’s, Guzman asks, “Why?”

“Andalusia,” Omar responds. “Has really old Islamic architecture. There’s buildings from the Umayyad Caliphate, there’s Moroccan buildings, and there’s Alhambra. Nadia hasn’t actually been there, you know…”

Guzman makes an annoyed noise. “Of course _I know,”_ he says. He’s looking down at the bar, so he misses Omar’s second eye roll.

Ander sees it and coughs to hide his laugh.

“No it’s a great idea,” he says. “You tell her you guys are going to see some cool old shit, and then you take her to the beach and propose.”

“She’ll be _very_ surprised,” Omar adds. “And you want your proposal to be a surprise right?”

Guzman nods.

“There you go then,” Ander says, slapping Guzman on the back. “You can propose to her on the beach _and_ she will like it.”

Guzman is still nodding, which Ander takes as a good sign.

“Oh,” Omar says quickly. “Don’t forget to tell my parents before you do it.”

Groaning, Guzman drops his head in his hands again. Ander hears him grumble an assent, before raising his head and ordering another drink. He’s silent afterwards, watching Omar and Ander, and contributing little to the conversation. Half an hour later, when they’ve moved on from the topic of marriage and proposals, Guzman looks up from his drink and grabs Ander’s arm. “Hey,” he says, squeezing Ander’s bicep and throwing his arms around Omar’s shoulder. “Can you guys come ring shopping with me?”

\---

To his benefit, when they go ring shopping, Guzman doesn’t actually try to buy the most expensive ring in the jewelry store.

He shops around, going from gold to silver to platinum, asking Omar and Ander’s opinions on which rings are the most beautiful, which rings Nadia would like best. Ander is blown away by Guzman’s self restraint, and finds himself shrugging often, resorting to the same trite line “you know Nadia best.”

But Guzman does know Nadia best, and when he settles on a ring, it’s neither showy, nor over-expensive. Even the diamond in the middle is factory made and not mined.

Omar, patting Guzman’s back warmly, congratulates him over and over again on his choice. Watching them get along so well brings a smile to Ander’s lips. Of course, their getting along is more for Nadia’s benefit than anything else, but Guzman is probably Ander’s closest friend, and the fact that he gets along with Omar… well it means something.

Also Ander absolutely knows that Omar is being this warm because he’s relieved that he didn’t have to talk Guzman out of an overly expensive ring.

As the saleswoman is wrapping the ring, Omar turns to Guzman and asks. “Is this ring the right size or are you going to have it resized?”

“What?”

Omar gestures to the box. “The ring, is it Nadia’s size?”

Guzman shakes his head. “I don’t know her size.”

The saleswoman stops wrapping and looks at Guzman. “You can bring your fiance here and have the ring resized after you propose.”

To Ander’s surprise, it’s Omar who responds. “No, no,” he says. “Is there a way for him to figure out her ring size without waiting for the proposal?”

The woman nods slowly. “You can always look through her jewelry for a ring that fits her or have her try several rings and see which one fits best. You can also measure her ring finger with a tape measure and match it to a ring size.”

“That last one sounds both more and less suspicious,” Ander says. He glances at Omar with a smile, but Omar is not looking at him. He’s looking thoughtfully at the saleswoman.

“Ok so I’m her brother,” Omar says, gently pushing Guzman out of the way so that he has the saleswoman’s sole attention. “Can you show me how to do it, the measuring with a tape one?” He pauses. “Will you show me on Ander?”

Surprised, Ander offers the saleswoman his hand as she takes out a small tape measure. “This one is specially designed to measure fingers,” she says, wrapping the thing around Ander’s ring finger. “But those tape measures that people use for sewing _should_ work just as well.” She tightens the ring sizer, and Ander, bored, turns his attention to Omar. Omar is not really paying attention, his gaze straying from the vitrines filled with rings to the green, velvet carpet.

When the saleswoman finishes though, he turns his attention back to her. “What does it say?”

The woman looks closely at Ander’s finger. “A bit higher than twenty millimeters,” she says.

“And?” Omar asks.

“Oh, that for example, in men’s sizes is ten and a half. But for your soon to be fiance,” she says. “I’ll venture a guess that her finger is a lot smaller. Figure out her size in millimeters and just call us up and let us know. We can keep the ring for you until you do… or you can just come back with the ring to have it resized.”

As she talks, Omar takes out his phone and quickly types something in. Ander watches him, confused. “What were you doing?” he asks, pulling Omar away as Guzman pays for the ring.

Omar shrugs. “Just writing down the lady’s instructions,” he says, not looking at Ander. “I might forget them, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ander says. “I already forgot what she said.”

Omar leans in and kisses Ander’s cheek softly. “This is why you write things down,” he says.

They wait for Guzman to finish paying and then they go out to lunch to plan Guzman’s next step.

\--

As he’s been doing during this whole planning to propose process, Guzman manages to drag both Ander and Omar into his actual proposal.

They’re not like, there standing around while he proposes. They’re hiding behind some rocks on the beach, with their phones out, one filming the scene while the other takes pictures.

It’s a whole event.

Before all of that though, Guzman begs Ander and Omar to accompany him and Nadia to Andalusia.

“Look,” he says. “She won’t suspect a thing if you guys are there. She’ll just think it’s a siblings and friends vacation event and the proposal will be even more of a surprise.”

He makes a valid point and also offers to pay for the whole trip, and Omar agrees so readily that Ander sees no reason to disagree.

They go to several Islamic sites, they take a shit ton of pictures in Alhambra, and then as casually as he can, Guzman tells Nadia that they’re going to spend the rest of the week at a beach.

The day that he does propose, Guzman sends Ander and Omar exact instructions to arrive at the place half an hour early to set up. They scatter rocks shaped like hearts along the beach. Then they hide, per Guzman’s request, behind an outcrop of rocks. Waiting for Guzman and Nadia to arrive is boring business, and after about two minutes, Ander starts taking pictures of Omar with his phone. Omar’s apparently on board with the picture taking because he immediately takes out his own phone and starts taking selfies of the two of them.

By the time Guzman and Nadia arrive, the sun is setting and Ander and Omar have about one hundred selfies of the two of them hiding behind the rocks. Guzman turns to Nadia, getting down on one knee and smiling up at her. She squeals in an undignified way Ander knows she will be very embarrassed about later.

Ander films the whole thing. Next to him, he can hear Omar moving as he takes pictures. When Nadia says yes, they grin at each other and emerge from their hiding place, making her squeal again. She hugs them both, smiling widely. Then she turns back to hug Guzman again.

It’s all very beautiful and sweet, and it makes Ander burn with longing.

To quell those feelings, he grabs Omar’s hand. As Nadia kisses Guzman, they both respectfully look away. It’s a private moment, and although Ander and Omar are here to take pictures and videos, Ander thinks that there are some moments that are not meant to be shared. He pulls Omar along the beach, walking farther away from Nadia and Guzman.

They walk in silence, swinging their hands as they go along, walking closer and closer to the ocean, until the foam grazes their feet.

“What about you?” Omar asks. He’s watching the waves come in.

Ander watches him instead of the sea. “What about me?” he asks.

“What kind of proposal would you want?” There’s a smile on his lips now, small, mischievous. Ander pushes him away, then grabs his shoulders, pulling him back in.

“I want literal fireworks,” he whispers into Omar’s ear. “I want you to get up on a stage at a concert and ask me to marry you via song.” Trapped in Ander’s arms, Omar is shaking with silent laughter. Ander kisses his cheek once and releases him, only to grab his hands again and pull him close. “I won’t say yes otherwise.”

Omar is still laughing, eyes shut, but his arms wrap around Ander’s neck. “Ok,” he says. “We’ll go to a concert.”

Ander nods at first, laughing as well, then shakes his head. “I don’t need… I don’t care for all of this,” he says, gesturing towards where he knows Guzman and Nadia are. “I don’t need a beach and sunset and rocks that look like hearts,” he continues. “Just a simple question.”

“That’s it?” Omar asks.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Ok.” Omar shakes his head, like he’s considering the idea. “So, Ander,” he starts.

Ander’s heart skips a beat. “No,” he says quickly, panicking. He absolutely does not want to become engaged on the same day that Guzman proposed. He doesn’t want it in the _same place_ as Guzman’s proposal. No thank you. “I swear to god, not right now.”

Omar smiles. “You didn’t let me finish. I wanted to ask...”

“Omar, really.”

“Will you kiss me?”

Ander wants to kick him or step on one of his feet. He almost does, but then he stops himself. “Fuck you,” he says and kisses Omar.

Omar opens his mouth immediately, his hands coming up to grab Ander’s face. Ander pulls him closer, clutching his waist, wanting to be as close as possible.

For a moment there, he had thought that Omar was actually going to ask him to get married.

And it had been terrifying and he’d panicked and he’d thought about Guzman’s proposal. But now that he knows that Omar wasn’t intending to propose, Ander is a bit melancholy. He’s thought about it before, getting married to Omar. He thought about it when the jeweler sized his finger for a ring. He thought about it when Guzman and Omar talked about what Nadia would appreciate best in a proposal. He thought about it back when he was sixteen and he realized he was in love with Omar.

Ander wants to get married. He wants to be engaged to be married, and he wants that to happen soon. Maybe not on the day that Nadia and Guzman got engaged, but even then, getting engaged on the same day as his best friend wouldn’t be _too_ terrible.

But Omar was joking.

Which is _fine_ , really, because Ander wants to get married but he doesn’t _need_ to get married. And besides, it’s not like Ander is _waiting_ for a proposal. He can propose to Omar at any time he wants.

When Omar pulls away, Ander grabs his face to keep him close. He doesn’t want to let go, not when his heart hurts a bit. Omar touches his nose to Ander’s gently. It fills Ander with so much love that he smiles.

“Don’t joke about these things.” Ander’s eyes are still closed and he’s not hurt or angry. But he also knows that he doesn’t want his hopes to be raised without any basis, and he doesn’t particularly want Omar to mess with him about this.

Omar nods, silent. “I’ll try not to,” he says, which is not very encouraging. He grabs Ander’s hand and they walk back towards the beach where they left Guzman and Nadia.

\--

Getting Guzman and Nadia’s parents to meet had been a herculean task. Neither parties were happy about the engagement or particularly eager to start talking about the wedding. Nadia told Omar who told Ander that although her parents had given their blessing to the marriage, the reality of it had made them uncomfortable.

Guzman’s parents… well, there was a lot of things they objected to.

But since neither set of parents had the ability to force their children out of a marriage, they needed to get together and talk.

When they do, on a sunny Saturday morning, the atmosphere is tense. Nadia’s parents sit stiffly in the living room of Guzman’s house, opposite of Guzman’s parents. The two sets of parents watch each other wearily. Guzman is standing, hovering above his parents. Nadia sits with her own, holding her mother’s hand. Omar sits besides her, watching Guzman’s parents just as wearily as his own parents are.

Ander is leaning against the living room wall, because he’s here for some reason.

That reason is Omar, he thinks, or maybe Guzman? Both had asked him to come as support, though right now, neither seem to be paying much attention to Ander.

Which is fine, because he doesn’t really want to be here anyways.

The silence doesn’t last very long. One moment, everyone is staring at each other and the next, Guzman’s mother is coughing, and then Guzman begins to talk. He asks Nadia about what kind of wedding she would prefer, and everyone listens attentively as Nadia says that’s it’s very important for her to have a Muslim wedding. Guzman’s parents look at each other while Nadia explains that they will have to call in an _imam_ for the ceremony but they make no objections. When Nadia talks about the henna night, her mom cuts in to explain the tradition. Ander catches Omar’s eyes as both of Guzman’s parents lean in, intrigued though hesitant. Omar gives him a small smile, but his attention returns almost immediately to the conversation that the parents are having.

Some time later, Ander is sitting next to Guzman, and the parents have moved on from the types of wedding--one Muslim and one secular--to the types of venues. Guzman’s dad is insisting on reserving the venue where he and his wife got married, but Nadia’s parents are talking about costs and Guzman’s mother is talking about flower arrangements, drowning out even the voice of her husband, and Ander thinks he hears something about one hundred doves.

Ander is so absolutely fed up with all of this that he needs to get out of here. Nadia looks as if she too wants to flee, dropping her head into her hands and looking completely worn out. Ander catches Omar’s eyes again, sending a silent question his way, _what is going on?_

Omar shrugs. It’s small and ironic and it makes Ander smile. He tries again, for Omar and Guzman’s sake, to pay attention, but the wedding planning has absolutely nothing to do with him, and the voices of the parents, each rising above the others at different intervals, are giving Ander a headache. He taps Guzman on the shoulder, and lets him know quietly that he is going out on the terrace to get some air.

Ander is pretty sure no one even notices his leaving. Not even Omar.

The morning sun shines warmly in the sky, reflecting off of the surface of the pool and bathing everything in a white, summer light. Ander squints at the brightness as he walks onto the terrace, briefly considering going back inside. But he decides against it and laying down by the pool, he takes off his shoes and puts his feet into the water.

The sun is nice, bright yes, but it’s too early for its heat to be annoying. Ander closes his eyes and relaxes his body back to the ground, kicking his feet softly in the pool water.

Weddings. Ander’s been thinking about wedding ceremonies a lot recently, what with Guzman’s coming up. He’s thought about his own wedding as well; Omar’s joke at the beach had made Ander realize how badly he wants to get married. Now, thanks to Guzman and Nadia, he’s thinking a lot about what kind of wedding he’d like to have.

And well, he doesn’t really know… or care. “A wedding” is as far as Ander has thought on the subject. He doesn’t really care what it’s like past the fact that he wants it to happen. And really, do people _know_ what they want before they get married? Do they have specific venues, colors or flowers in mind, or do they just go along with trends? Ander didn’t even think he’d ever get married, didn’t think it would be something he wanted until he fell in love, and really even then, he wasn’t sure he and Omar would survive Omar’s family…

There was a lot of storm that Ander and Omar had to get through.

But they got through it, and now they’re on the other side, with the sun shining bright and Ander definitely thinks that he will propose to Omar soon, but that doesn’t mean he really knows what kind of wedding he wants to have.

There is a sound of the door, but Ander doesn’t open his eyes. It’s either Omar or Guzman who’s come to find him, and they’ll announce themselves soon.

“You know,” Omar says, Ander can feel him settling down by the side of the pool, thighs touching Ander’s shoulders. “When I said ‘come as support’ I meant stay with me the whole time.”

Ander raises a hand and cups the back of Omar’s head, moving it around so that he’s blocking the sunlight, before he opens his eyes. “You didn’t need me.”

“No?” Omar bats Ander’s hand away.

“Nah,” Ander watches as Omar takes off his shoes and socks, then lays down next to him, their shoulders touching. “You all need an exorcist.”

Omar laughs. “That’s my parents you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, and Guzman’s. Did _you_ hear the thing about doves?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Excessive,” Ander says. “No one needs doves at their wedding.”

Omar nods in agreement. Then, “So you don’t want doves at your wedding?”

“Absolutely not.”

Omar shuffles around so that his weight is on his elbow and he is looking at Ander. “What would you want?”

“Me?” Ander asks. He should be less surprised that Omar’s thought process has followed a similar path to his own today. “I don’t really know. I don’t care.”

“At all?”

Ander shrugs, which is not at all easy to do on the ground. “I don’t know, Omar. I think when the time comes, I’ll just want to be married. I don’t care if there is a party or if there is no party. As long as we’re…” he stops himself. It feels weird to say “we’re,” even though they’re obviously talking about their own wedding, because he and Omar are not engaged, and they haven’t had a marriage conversation yet. Ander corrects himself. “As long as I get married at the end of it.”

Omar, who has definitely caught Ander’s word stumble, smiles. “Ok,” he says, laying on his back again. “Religious ceremony?”

“Nah,” Ander says. “Not religious. Also the Catholic church hates gays.” He glances over at Omar. Omar’s eyes are closed, and the smile is still on his face. “Absolutely don’t need a religious ceremony.” Ander reiterates.

“Cool. Doves?”

“No!”

Omar cackles. “You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Ok. Flowers?”

Ander thinks about that, resisting the urge to say I don’t care again. “Sure. A few.”

“Not like Guzman’s mom was saying?” Omar asks.

“No, just a few for decoration. Real flowers though,” he adds as a secondary thought. “Fake flowers are tacky.”

“Right. Guests?”

Ander thinks about it again. “Family and close friends,” he says. “Like immediate family, and _very_ close friends.”

“You have grandparents?” Omar asks. “Mine wouldn’t come.”

“Yes,” Ander responds, thrilled that Omar too is definitely thinking about _their_ wedding. “Mine probably wouldn’t either.”

“Where do you want it?”

“Would it be cheesy if I said my parents’ backyard?” Ander asks.

“No. I like that.”

“Then my parents’ backyard.”

Omar doesn’t ask any more questions. His hand finds Ander’s and he tangles their fingers together. After a moment, he says. “I like it all a lot.”

His approval makes Ander’s heart soar.

“So I wanted to ask you something,” Omar says, a while later, when they’ve been laying down by the side of the pool long enough that Ander’s skin feels hot.

Ander doesn’t think he likes the direction Omar’s words are taking them. “What?”

“Ander,” Omar says. He sits up, still holding Ander’s hand. Ander opens his eyes, watching Omar expectantly.

“What?” Ander says again. He sees the game Omar is playing and refuses to fall for it a second time. He remembers, also, distinctly asking Omar not to do this again, yet here they are.

“Ander,” Omar says, for a second time, sounding entirely too fond.

Ander bites his lip to hide his smile. Now that he knows the game, it doesn’t really hurt that Omar is messing with him. “You’re bluffing,” he says. He squeezes Omar’s hand with his own and brings the other to rest on top of Omar’s. “You wouldn’t propose to me at Guzman’s parents’ house.”

Omar smiles, big and earnest and keeps looking directly into Ander’s eyes. “Look, Ander,” he says. Ander’s heart rate quickens, even though he knows that Omar is bluffing, even though he’s been through this before, even though _he knows_ this is a game. Still it feels real and tender and so, he holds his breath. “You’re gonna burn out here, let’s go inside.”

Ander releases the breath he’d been holding. He’s not disappointed, because he was expecting this. He’s not disappointed, not at all, not even a little bit. “No,” he says and releases Omar’s hand to push him, clothed, into the pool.

A surprised yell escapes Omar, but he has enough ability to pull Ander in with him, flailing as he falls. When Ander emerges, sputtering, he finds Omar pushing water out of his eyes.

“Asshole!” Omar says through his smile.

“Me?”

Omar nods.

“Whatever. It’s what you get for pulling the same shit _again,”_ Ander says. His hair is dripping water into his eyes, and he shakes it, hoping that some get into Omar’s eyes.

“You’re like a wet dog,” Omar says, and suddenly he’s very close.

“A hot one?”

Omar’s hands are on Ander’s shoulders, then they’re wrapped around his neck. “Yeah,” he answers, pushing Ander against the pool wall. “A _really_ hot one, idiot,” he says and then kisses Ander.

The kiss is very sweet and convinces Ander to forgive Omar for this stupid goddamn prank. Again.

They stay in the pool for an embarrassingly long amount of time. When they get out, for fear of having to explain to all the adults inside _why_ they are soaking wet, they stay outside for three hours, willing their clothes to dry, until Guzman finds them when it’s time to eat lunch.

\--

The wedding preparations are laced with stress and urgency, but Ander thinks that there is sweetness there too. Although he’s heard Omar’s parents grumbling about Guzman not being Muslim, although he’s heard Guzman’s parents discussing how their colleagues will react to Nadia’s _Muslim_ guests, although both Nadia and Guzman have complained about their parents’ meddling, everyone is _happy._

Their happiness is contagious and Ander finds himself more willing to help out when someone (Guzman, usually Guzman) asks him.

Today he’s in a flower shop with Nadia, Guzman, Guzman’s mom, Nadia’s mom and Omar. Guzman’s mother is clearly in charge today. She knows the florist, has been giving the shop business for decades. She waltzes in, already aware of what she wants, and it’s a testament to Nadia’s strong will that what Guzman’s mother came in with is now being debated by everyone who cares about the flower arrangements.

Guzman, who’s watching his mother and Nadia battle about flowers, catches Ander’s eyes and inclines his head. Ander follows him down the aisle of flowers, to the greenhouse.

“Nadia wants pink and white roses,” he says. “She’s not too fond of lilies.” Guzman’s mother wants centerpieces with lilies. “And my mother thinks roses are too cliche.”

Ander really and absolutely knows nothing about flowers. He tells Guzman this.

“Yeah, I know, I just wanted to talk.” Guzman tells Ander that _he_ likes the roses better than the lilies, but apparently Guzman’s mother doesn’t actually care what Guzman wants.

Ander pats Guzman’s shoulder sympathetically, and they walk around the greenhouse, trying to figure out a way to convince Guzman’s mother to give up the lilies. Ander reasons that they should remind her who’s wedding she’s helping to plan, but Guzman says that’s futile. He’s been trying to do that for weeks now. Minutes pass as they talk, going around in circles, both physically and conversationally, and then someone is calling for Guzman’s opinion and Guzman has to go back to the group, leaving Ander alone in the greenhouse.

Ander keeps on walking, letting his fingers brush over leaves and petals. Ander thinks he too prefers the roses to lilies, especially since he can clearly picture a rose in his head, but when he thinks about lilies different images pop up--Ander’s not sure he knows what lilies look like, do they float on water? He feels like he’s seen flowers called lilies that float on water. Ander wonders why it’s so important to Guzman’s mom to pick the flowers for someone else’s wedding. She has had her own, hasn’t she? Wasn’t that enough?

Lost in thought and glancing barely at the plants he’s passing, Ander doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him. He startles when he feels the hand on his shoulder, but it’s only Omar.

“We’re done for the day,” Omar says. He drops his arm as Ander turns around, his other arm is hidden behind his back, Ander nods towards it.

“What’s that?” He asks.

Omar smiles. “For you,” he says, and takes out his hand, revealing a very small bouquet consisting of two roses, entwined together, surrounded by red and white carnations.

Ander’s breath leaves him at the sweetness of it. “For me?” he asks.

Omar nods, “That’s what I said.”

“Thank you,” Ander says, pulling Omar into a hug. He’s so surprised and the gesture so sweet, that Ander thinks he might start crying. “Thank you,” he says again, pulling back. He holds the flowers close to his chest. “But why?”

Omar holds Ander’s face with his hands. “I wanted to tell you,” he says, slowly closing the distance between his own face and Ander’s, kissing him softly. “I wanted to let you know.”

“Let me know?” Ander is watching Omar’s lips.

“How much I mean it,” Omar says, his voice a whisper. “When I say... when I tell you I love you.”

Ander takes a quick harsh breath. “Oh.”

“You know,” Omar says. His hands on Ander’s face grip tighter, he presses his forehead to Ander’s. “You know, right?” Omar asks, then pulls away to look at Ander’s face intently.

“Yeah,” Ander says, breathless. “I know.”

“Good,” Omar says and kisses Ander again.

They part only when Guzman comes to find them, and ushers them out to the car. Ander holds the flowers tightly as Omar drives.

“This is very sweet,” he says eventually.

Omar laughs. “The wedding air is contagious.”

Ander laughs with him. “Yeah.”

Not on that day, not on the next, and not even when the flowers dry does Ander think to ask Omar why he specifically gave Ander a bouquet of entwined roses surrounded by red and white carnations.

\---

There’s a tradition in Middle Eastern weddings, Ander learned on that first meeting with all the parents, a party the night before the wedding, where the bride and groom’s family get together and put henna on the bride and groom’s hand. It’s a traditional thing, and no one can tell Ander where and how it originated (“Middle Eastern, it says it’s thousands of years old,” Guzman tells Ander after they google it together one night), but what he does learn is that since Nadia’s parents are no longer in Palestine, the ceremony won’t be _as_ traditional as one held in Palestine. He actually hears this all from Guzman, who’s trying to convince his parents that it is absolutely necessary that everyone participate in the henna night, and no mom you don’t _have_ to put henna on _your_ hands though it would be polite, it’s really for the bride and groom, mainly the bride, but _yes_ you have to be there.

Guzman argues with his parents _for a while_ , but in the end they relent and agree to show up.

The henna party is held at the bride’s parents’ house, and the small house is packed when Ander arrives with Guzman. There’s music playing, and people are talking and Ander, who’s not the biggest fan of crowds to begin with, starts feeling slightly uncomfortable and out of place.

It’s a relief when Omar finds him five minutes after he arrives, as soon as Ander starts feeling antsy, as if Omar could sense his discomfort and came to find him. His presence changes the atmosphere, the way the party affects Ander begins taking a positive spin, and with Omar there the night and the party are thoroughly comforting.

After some time, Nadia’s family bring out the henna and first put it on Nadia’s hand, then they distribute it to the guests. As the guests--from both the groom and the bride’s side--begin partaking in the tradition, Ander pulls Omar aside and whispers, “I want that,” nodding to a mother and her daughter drawing elaborate flowers on each others’ hands with liquid henna.

Omar looks at him with surprise. “Really?” he asks. “You want henna on your hand.”

Ander nods, looking at the ground. “It’s cool.”

“Ok, let’s get you some.” Omar grabs Ander’s arm and pulls him to the side, where his father and uncle are standing with a plate full of henna containers. “Dad,” he says. “Can I have one?”

Omar’s father gives him a container. Omar takes it, thanks his father, and drags Ander all the way to the terrace, where they’re alone.

“Give me your hand,” Omar demands, grabbing Ander’s hand before Ander has a chance to present it to him.

“I’m not the best artist,” he continues, placing the tip of the container on Ander’s palm and squeezing.

The cold, liquid henna feels nice against Ander’s skin. Ander watches as Omar draws a flower on his palm, then some leaves.

“Good thing it’s not permanent,” Ander says jokingly. He actually hadn’t known that henna wasn’t permanent until Nadia had told him.

Omar chuckles. “Yeah.” He’s quiet as he draws vines on Ander’s hand, then. “We can have this too when we get married,” he says, eyes on Ander’s hand. “If you want.”

The fact that he said _when_ and not _if_ sets Ander’s body on fire. He watches Omar’s face, breathless, his heart beating rapidly, as Omar draws on his hand. “Can we?” he asks finally, summoning his words from the depth in which they’ve disappeared. “Isn’t the bride the main event for the henna party?”

“Yeah,” Omar responds. “So What?”

Instead of answering, Ander glances down at his hand. It takes him a second to notice that Omar is no longer drawing vines and leaves on his hand. “Is that a heart?” Ander asks amused.

Omar finally looks up and nods. “That one too,” he says pointing to another heart on Ander’s palm.

“Is that traditional?” Ander asks.

“Nope,” Omar says. “Just how I felt.”

For the second time in less than ten minutes, Ander is surprised speechless. He watches Omar draw yet another heart on his hand before he has recovered enough to ask, “What is up with you lately?” he asks. “You’ve been a lot more…”

“Idiotic?” Omar asks.

“Affectionate,” Ander says. “Not that you weren’t before, it’s just that lately, you’re different.”

“It’s my sister’s wedding,” Omar says, rolling his shoulders, putting the container of henna down. He doesn’t let go of Ander’s hand though. Instead he grips it with both his own hands, carefully avoiding the drying henna hearts and flowers. He looks Ander directly in the eye. “It’s having an effect on me.”

“Are you going to pretend to propose to me again?” Ander asks, a smirk on his face. “Because I’m really not going to fall for it _another_ time.”

Omar smiles. “Isn’t that what you said last time?”

Ander laughs. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Ok,” Omar responds, and instead kisses Ander’s cheek softly. “Love you,” he whispers, against the side of Ander’s mouth, before kissing his lips chastely.

Ander huffs, charmed and oddly embarrassed. “So you claim,” he says.

“You know I do.” Omar is shaking his head.

“I know you do.”

“You?”

“Sure. Why not?” Ander laughs.

Omar laughs with him. “Asshole.”

“Idiot,” Ander counters, turning his body towards Omar.

Omar kisses him again, the same sweet kind of kiss as before.

“Let’s go inside,” Ander says and they do, rejoining the celebration. Omar doesn’t leave Ander’s side during the whole night.

But he does have to leave Ander the next day because his parents demand his presence in the morning. They need Omar to help with the wedding preparation, the set up, the caterer. Ander spends the night with Guzman and as a result, he gets ready for the wedding by Guzman’s side, (Guzman, who’s the groom, is not roped into the wedding preparation, which Ander thinks is fair).

The first wedding is done in front of the _imam_ , and doesn’t take long. The second is done in front of a state official, and when it’s over and the papers are signed, the real party begins.

Ander doesn’t retain much from the day, except the happy looks on Nadia and Guzman’s face as they kissed for the first time after getting married, and a moment during the night, when he’s alone with Omar, smoking outside the building, and Omar’s hand goes to his chest pocket.

But the moment passes without anything spectacular happening and they rejoin the party.

\--

The next morning Ander wakes up very slowly. There had been no alcohol at the wedding party, due to Nadia’s religion, so there’s no hangover, but it had been a tiring event nonetheless. Ander’s first thought as consciousness overtakes him is that Omar is plastered against him, his head resting on Ander’s back.

“Morning,” Ander mumbles into his pillow. The curtains are open for some reason and the sunlight is bothering his eyes. Ander’s second thought is that he really would prefer it if someone closed the curtains.“Will you close the curtains?”

Omar doesn’t, instead, he wraps his arms around Ander’s body.

“Omar?” Ander asks, still a mumble.

There’s no response, just a small kiss at the middle of Ander’s neck, then another next to it, where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Awake?” Omar asks.

Ander grunts into the his pillow. He needs to move his head so the sun is not shining directly onto his face.

“Ander?” Omar asks.

“No.”

Ander feels more than hears Omar laughing softly behind him. It’s almost enough to convince him to open his eyes. On the other hand, he could fall back asleep, if only the goddam sun would move… or Omar would get up and close the curtains.

Ander determines to ask him to again, but he’s too sleepy to form the words. He grunts again and buries his face into his pillow.

“Hey, grumpy,” Omar whispers, his lips moving softly against Ander’s shoulder. “Marry me.”

Barely awake, it takes Ander a moment to register what Omar has said. “What?”

Omar raises his head, resting his chin on Ander’s shoulder. “Marry me.”

Ander opens his eyes, and half turns around. “ _What?_ ” he asks more emphatically this time. “Is this another joke?” Ander asks. His mind is too sleep addled to realize that before, during his not-proposals, Omar had not once said the words _marry me._

Omar shakes his head. “No, I mean it. I’ve been meaning to do this for months, Ander. _I mean it._ ” He repeats. He raises himself enough that Ander can turn around completely, then continues. “I can’t see my life without you,” kisses to Ander’s forehead, then his cheekbone, then his forehead again. “I want to be your husband and your best friend and… everything. You’re… you’re everything, and I just want us to be married now.”

“Omar,” Ander breathes out the name more than says it. He doesn’t know how to… he can’t even think, let alone form coherent sentences. His mind is screaming with joy, but it doesn’t want to spare any energy to allow his mouth to speak. He wants to say _yes, yes, yes I’ll marry you. Of course I’ll marry you._ He doesn’t though, he just repeats Omar’s name again.

“Hold on,” Omar says at Ander’s silence, though he doesn’t seem upset by it. He turns to rummage in his nightstand. When he turns around, he’s holding a ring box. “Will you?” he asks, voice shaking, as he opens the box.

Still speechless, Ander nods, letting Omar put the engagement band on his finger. It fits perfectly. Omar grabs Ander’s hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing first the ring, then Ander’s fingers, then the palm of his hand where the henna hearts are, then his wrist. He raises his head from Ander’s hand after kissing his palm again, but his gaze doesn’t leave Ander’s ring finger. 

“How did you…?” Ander asks, finding the remnants of his voice and nodding at his finger. “The size.”

Omar doesn’t answer at first, too busy looking at Ander’s left hand. “What?” He asks raising his gaze from Ander’s hand to his eyes.

“The size. How did you know my size?” Ander’s voice is still shaking.

“I had the lady size you, remember?” Omar says. He’s moved on from kissing Ander’s palm and wrist to trying to kiss his mouth. Ander holds up a hand.

“That was for this?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Omar says, pushing his hand away, and kissing Ander’s cheek. Ander tilts his head so Omar can kiss neck. “I wasn’t very subtle.”

His lips against Ander’s neck give Ander goosebumps, make him shudder, and he can’t think again. He wants to give in to Omar’s lips and this feeling of happiness bubbling inside him, but he also wants his questions answered and he wants to _understand_ how he missed the signs that preceded this proposal. He gently pushes Omar’s head away so he can think. “I thought the measurement was for your sister.”

Omar laughs, shaking his head. “No, it was for you.”

“Oh.” In hindsight, Ander should have seen through the thinly veiled plot to get his ring size. He wonders if Guzman saw it and makes a mental note to ask him when he returns from his honeymoon. “How long have you been planning this?”

Omar sighs. “Since before Guzman brought it up. But… then he brought it up, and he wanted to marry Nadia and honestly, I didn’t want to take the attention away from them.”

Ander smiles at Omar’s thoughtfulness. “I understand.”

“So I used them to do research about you,” Omar says. “See what you liked, figure out your ring-size.”

“And you waited until Nadia was safely married to propose…” Ander says thoughtfully. “That’s a lot of self restraint.”

Omar only nods. “Hey,” he says again, he grabs the back of Ander’s head with his hand and brings their foreheads together. “I love you.”

Ander smiles, closing his eyes. He’s heard those words before, and it’s not like the ring really changes their meaning. He’s known that Omar loves him for years now, has heard it regularly since he was in high school. Still, the happiness of the proposal and the feeling of the ring against his fingers make him feel a kind of giddiness he has not felt since he was a teenager. “Is that why you kept fake proposing to me?” he asks, finally, opening his eyes. “Because you love me and the self restraint was killing you?”

“Yeah,” Omar says. “And I wanted to see if you were into it. Anyways, I only did that twice,” Omar says. “Then with the flowers I really meant it.”

Ander pulls away. “The flowers?”

“Yeah, when we were at the florist’s that one time with Guzman’s mom making a ruckus, I asked her about flower meanings while Nadia and Guzman were looking at centerpieces.She told me two roses intertwined mean ‘marry me’ in flower language and I asked her if she could make a bouquet for me.”

“Wait,” Ander says. “You… the flowers meant something? You were giving me flowers saying you wanted me to marry you?”

“Yeah, the roses are marry me and the carnations are… something about love. I can’t remember, the florist told me the meanings and I just told her to put them together. I think one is about yearning for the person and another is about first love. I don’t know, We’ll look it up together.”

“Ok.” Ander says, feeling somehow even more pleased, the words _first love_ and _yearning_ _for you_ ringing in his head. Instead of letting himself be kissed again, Ander seeks Omar’s mouth, opens his mouth against Omar’s when he finds it and feels the familiar longing for _more_ that appears every time he kisses Omar like this. He wraps his arms around Omar’s neck and lays down, pulling Omar down with him, letting Omar cover his body.

“Did you think I was gonna get the flower message?” Ander asks, later.

“Nah.” Omar is playing with Ander’s curls, letting Ander rest his head against his chest. “Just wanted to make the gesture.”

“A gesture…” It’s so sweet, too sweet. Ander remembers how earnest Omar had been when he’d given Ander the flowers. Remembers him repeating how much he loved Ander, how badly he wanted Ander to know it.

“I love you,” Ander says, turning his head to kiss Omar’s chest. “So much, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Omar says. “Now you’re going to marry me.”

Ander raises his head, resting his chin on Omar’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I’m going to marry you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Andas En Mi Cabeza_ by Chino y Nacho
> 
> \--  
> Oh boy do I have comments about this, most fluffy, absolutely too sappy fic. I think I was trying to make up for my previous, unnecessarily angsty, Omar x Ander fic. 
> 
> So a few comments:
> 
> 1\. Henna parties are a big deal in Iranian weddings (which is where I'm from). When I started researching Palestinian weddings, I was happy to realize they had their own version. I tried really hard not to put in Iranian hannabandoon ideas in there and I hope I succeeded.
> 
> 2\. I wanted to make sure that there were fake-out proposals in this fic. Halfway through writing, I remembered that Spanish just changes the verb to make it future tense instead of adding a "will" in front of the verb like English does. I freaked out for a while, tried to find some Spanish verbs that started with "c" so I could make it an authentic fake out for _casar_ , until my friend who speaks Spanish came to my rescue with sentences in Spanish which I then translated into English. She's an angel.
> 
> 3\. While researching this fic, I learned that in Spain people don't have a best man and maid of honor which made me sad.
> 
> 4\. I really really really want to go to Alhambra. It's on my bucket list. I just want to see it so badly.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this fic. Find me on [tumblr](http://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/) and talk to me about Elite.


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